


Point of Pride

by tiniestdormouse



Category: Pandora Hearts
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Romance, pride & prejudice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-14
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2018-01-05 10:05:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiniestdormouse/pseuds/tiniestdormouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife." Crossover Pandora Hearts/ Pride & Prejudice birthday fic for mistressmoogle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Point of Pride

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mistressmoogle](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=mistressmoogle).



It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.

That is what the good noblewomen and matchmakers murmured amongst themselves concerning Lord Oscar Vessalius, heir to the most respected Dukedom in the Nation, and recently recovered from being widowed three years beforehand (no one said the same for his brother Lord Zai, but there are arguably dynamic differences between the siblings.)

The proper mourning period had passed; Lord Oscar only wore a pocketsquare of black silk to mark the former Lady’s passing. According to the society pages, he had been spotted in his family’s box at the Grand Opera the night that  _Master and Coxswain_  had premiered, and that he had signed up to be part of the newest gentleman’s academic society upon, most shockingly heard, Lord Barma’s recommendation.

Lord Oscar’s public reemergence after years of privacy at his family’s country seat also instigated a torrent of invitations to dinners, exhibitions, lectures, picnics, boating outings, ballet recitals, orchestral concerts, and even a invite to His Majesty the Traveler King’s annual national ball celebrating the unification of the Nation post-Abyss – all instigated either by noble families with marriageable daughters, or feisty matchmakers and Pandora colleagues on behalf of other widows. The man of the hour, after unsheathing several of these documents from their vellum holdings, gave a crooked smile and tossed them all into the fireplace.

“Jennings,” he said to his butler with a sigh, “I thought they’d at least give me a fortnight.”

“It’s been three days. I won a bet with the cook, Your Lordship,” the butler replied. Jennings was a good man, but had some indulgences with the staff; his flaws was why Lord Oscar kept him around.

The letter that he kept in hand was the invitation to a ball held by the Lady Cheryl Rainsworth (who also had an eligible daughter Shelly.) Oscar recalled the last time they had met publicly, five years ago on the first birthday of Lady Shelly’s daughter. Lady Shelly was a wan but cheerful woman, and her husband was twice her age but looked triple his own years. A proper noble marriage, it was called, to seal the family’s connection with the royal court. The “infirm couple” they were referred to snidely by those jealous and beneath them, but Oscar found them to be both honest and decent people. Lady Shelly, despite her chronic ill-health, still managed to have a beautiful baby girl. Oscar had held the plump babe in his arms and little Sharon cooed at him softly and tugged at his beard.

No one knew that a year later Lord Rainsworth would suffer a fatal collapse, and the shock made Lady Shelly bedridden for over a year. Then, the tragic carriage accident took Sarah from Oscar forevermore. Lord Oscar had consoled Lady Shelly in her sorrow, and she did the same for him: a widow’s bond. Her health worsened, but the letters between them both never stopped. A vision of Lady Shelly came to mind, as he tucked the invitation in his front pocket, in front of the scrap of midnight on his chest. He recalled the warm sparkle of her clear blue eyes, and the heartfelt words she wrote to console him after the funeral.

Out of everyone he had secluded himself from during mourning, he looked forward to seeing her the most.

* * *

 

“You fool,” grumbled his brother as they were announced at the Rainsworth ball. “Why did you have to drag me to this insipid event?”

“You didn’t have to attend, Zai,” Oscar said cheerfully. He gazed around the elaborate room and milling guests. Unlike Oscar, Lord Zai was still all in black from head to toe, despite the fact that his wife had been gone for more than five years. His brother had always been a curmudgeon, and this attitude only worsened upon Lady Rachel’s passing. Not even his children Oz and Ada were a source of merriment as they had been for Oscar; the younger man couldn’t understand why. When death can come so suddenly and so frequently, Oscar believed, the only way to survive in this world was to cherish the living even more.

“No, I did not,” he replied shortly, “and you best remember that, Oscar.”

“So you consider this an expression of familial love?”

“No, I consider this me making sure you don’t go out and do something disgraceful. You already ruined the family name once; no need to make that a pattern.”

Oscar visibly twitched and didn’t make a move to stop Zai as the scarred man pulled on his cravat brusquely and immediately headed for the refreshments. Zai: ever the stiff board, who never approved of his late marriage to Sarah. During his most bitter moments, Oscar was surprised that Zai hadn’t been caught dancing on her grave.

Lady Shelly stood near the stairs, greeting the guests. Lord Zai, recalling his manners briefly, gave her a curt bow and muttered, “Welcome m’lady,” as he retreated past her, his cane echoing loudly upon the marble floor.

“My apologizes for my brother’s behavior,” Oscar said as he approached her. Taking her hand, he gave a low bow. “You know how he hates social events.”

Lady Shelly tilted her head downward, and Oscar caught sight of the tiny curling hairs on the back of her neck. “No insult taken, Oscar. I know how he is.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “May you sign my dance card?”

He leaned forward to kiss her gloved hand and let the whiff of her perfume welcome his nose. “Certainly, dear Jane.” Taking the small varnished pencil that was tied to her fan with a ribbon, he signed “Mr. Bingley” at the very top. They exchanged secretive glances. Of course, their correspondence while in mourning had been kept private, for it would have been unseemly to have anyone know of this friendship in their circumstances. “Miss Jane” and “Mr. Bingley” were the names they had made up to obscure their communications.

A pale blush crept across her cheeks and she giggled. “I await you on the floor.” she replied.

* * *

 

He could have danced all night. They did for most of it, twirling across the floor, hand to hand: the quadrille, the scotch reel, the mazurka. Clasping her dainty fingers in his as they dashed down the bridge of raised arms was one of Oscars favorite moments. Seeing tendrils of her hair float behind her in a girlish fashion, a healthy glow in her cheeks, instead of her usual consumptive complexion. The rise and fall of the music, the clapping and laughter as the younger women blushingly passed Oscar by. And, finally, the waltz: a daring new dance that split people into couples rather than sets. Holding Lady Shelly in his arms, Oscar couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

There was a moment while he left her to retrieve some punch, that cast a shadow upon the evening.

“Your first ball after mourning and you’re already set on another?” Zai scoffed as he leaned against a pillar. A glass of wine he nursed between his fingers.

Oscar nearly dropped the empty glass he held; the servant on the other side of the table caught it and ladled out the drink.

“I thought you wouldn’t comment, considering Lady Shelly’s rank.” But Oscar knew he would’ve felt this way regardless of the widow’s standing.

“Now you consider noble blood an asset. You’ve matured.”

“If you are coming to like my standards, maybe I should reconsider them after all,” Oscar sighed. “Lady Shelly is a good friend, Zai. Only she understands and appreciates how deeply I loved Sarah…”

“As long as she only remains a friend, Oscar. The Vessalius House cannot risk combining our House with theirs.”

“Must you always think in these terms?” Oscar’s fingers clenched around the glasses he held. “Why can’t you simply feel for once?”

“I  _feel_  for the sake of our family,” Zai frowned. “Unlike you. Despite the fact I gave you your position as head of this Dukedom, you do not think about what it means. You marrying into the Rainsworths would grant them superiority over our Gate to the Abyss. We cannot allow that.”

“You didn’t give me anything, Zai. You disappeared after Rachel left, and the King had no choice but to grant me the responsibilities of being Duke.” Why did Zai have to start this conversation again? It always came down to duty to his older brother, and apparently no matter what Oscar actually accomplished, he would never be as dutiful as Zai was. As if vanishing for months only to mysteriously return saying that he was doing “research into Jack Vessalius’s history” was a proper example of duty. Oscar appreciated their famous ancestor, but he had only been that – a person from the past. Why was Zai becoming so fixated upon him?

“Let’s not discuss this again. Aren’t you even enjoying yourself here?”

“How can I? The noble rabble I have no interest in. And there was this annoying woman who wouldn’t leave me alone. She had no proper title anyhow; I have no idea why Miss Elisabeth Bennett was put on the guest list.”

“Oh, she’s a close friend of Lady Shelly’s. Some say they are practically sisters.”

“Whatever,” Zai grumbled. He sipped his tumbler. “Go flounce to your Jane, Bingley.”

Oscar arched an eyebrow and Zai smirked. “You think I don’t pay attention to what my brother does?”

Lady Shelly sat by a table, fanning herself when he found her again. “Have you overexerted yourself, my Lady?”

“Only in the best of possible ways.” She beamed at him, but he could tell that their physical exercise had taken its toll upon her.

He took a finger and stroked the inside of her wrist. He didn’t care whether he had Zai’s blessing for this relationship or not, and he admittedly thought he’d never feel this way again. Would Sarah approve of this? Or, even worse, should he even try to love again, knowing that this, too, might soon pass? How often can he open up his heart like this? The thought stopped his touch.

“What is the matter, Oscar?” asked Shelly. “I’m not that tired.” A pause. “Or is it…?”

Oscar sat beside her. “Nothing, Sa-Lady Shelly.” He glanced away and coughed into a fist. “My brother doesn’t want to stay for much longer.”

“Cold-hearted man,” she said, the edge to her voice making him look at her again. “Do you know what the difference between you and him is?”

He didn’t answer until he felt her touch his sleeve. “You’re alive. He died years ago.”

Their eyes met and something tight caught in Oscar’s chest. “Life can be painful, but we should never regret living. Zai had buried himself long ago and that makes him insufferable to me. You shouldn’t feel guilty about not making that same choice.”

“Zai isn’t buried,” But as soon as Oscar gave the defense, he instantly thought otherwise. “Well, he’s makes everything in life a point of pride.”  _And I, what am I doing?_  he thought.  _Will courting Shelly only lead to future regret?_

“That pride is what he lords over you?” A scoff. “Well, our Lordship Zai Vessalius may be proud, but he is too proud, and he will suffocate from it, mark my words. I am of royal blood, but you don’t see me acting as such.” She bobbled him with the side of her closed fan. “Mr. Bingley, do I have to knock some sense into you?”

The fan attack was slight, unlike the typical wallops the Rainsworth women were known for. Oscar shielded his head easily and seized his glass. “To life then!” He toasted in the traditional way.

Shelly was so full of vigor and spirit, and he couldn’t deny his own vitality.  _No, Zai,_  he said to himself,  _I won’t become as you have. I will live and be happy and have no regrets._  He never regretted marrying and loving Sarah, and he won’t regret his feelings for Shelly either.

The small sound of crystal on crystal as their glasses clinked. “To life.” she echoed. “Now and always.”

 


End file.
